Heroes of the Darkest Age
by TheHarleyQueen
Summary: They'd ruled the Isle of the Lost. They'd ruled Auradon, as "heroes". And now, they'd rule this nameless land the way they wanted to, with Death and Conquest and Pestilence and War. The pattern had come true, just as Minerva had predicted. They'd rule from their palace of blood and iron and poison, and they'd be great.
1. One

_If you're new to the Seven Deadly Sins series, this is the sixth story. You can find the order of reading on my profile, or if you'd prefer, the entire series in one story titled 'The Horsemen's Cycle'._

* * *

 **Avarice: Heroes of the Darkest Age**

* * *

 _One_

They called it the **Blood Palace**. It rose above the horizon, a sole image of ultimate power. Of strength.

They called it the **Blood Palace** because the pure white marble steps that lead up to the thrones were stained red. They called it the **Blood Palace** because it was the place the first blood of the revolution had been spilt { _Mal walked out of the chambers. She held a sheet over her otherwise nude body and grasped the final key for revenge in her hand_ }.

Chad Charming had coined the term. The first servant of the Kings and Queens, shackled and dragged away in front of his mother, the wound in his leg leaving a red trail through the corridors. Chad Charming, shrieking, screeching, _begging_. Saying he'd never be a slave in the palace made of Ben's blood ( _he was wrong_ ). And High Queen Mal just smiled, _deadly_ , and laughed. Mouthed the words ' **Blood Palace'** to her lovers and nodded to herself.

{ _The new throne room was hideous. Animal skins hung on the walls, blood was always drying on the floor. The thrones were made of different materials- one thorn and velvet, a second an apple tree dripping with poison and held together by a ribbon, the third made with some rusted and aged metal with a lamp carved above the headrest, and the last steel and fur, made of 101 dalmatians._ }

High Queen Mal continued using the phrase long after Chad Charming was forgotten, _welcoming_ visitors and prisoners alike to the Blood Palace { _one thing had to be said for the building, though. It was beautiful through its grotesqueness, stunning in its hideousness the blood and marble created patterns across the floor that the Queens would trace as they danced. The poison that ran from Queen Evie's chair eroded canals into the floor, glittering with strychnine. The walls, hung with pelts and jewels (courtesy of King Carlos) were deadly yet elegant. The fires that burned along the walls of the hall shone a light across the throne room that illuminated the scars scattered across the Kings' and Queens' faces_ }. And when Chad Charming grew too old to serve the still-youthful monarchy, they slew him, cutting his throat and leaving his blood to stain the floors, on top of the decades of torture that already discoloured the ground. But the horrors of the Blood Palace was nothing compared to what it housed. Slaves and thralls { _Chad and Doug_ } dotted the corridors and rooms of the palace, some defiant, some willing { _wanting_ } to serve. The guests of the palace each hateful and deadly in their own way { _Alya, Miranda, Lei_ }. The prisoners, screaming and deformed. And the Rulers.

There was Queen Evie, of course. The Angelic. The fighter. The seductress. _The succubus_. A woman so beautiful you couldn't breathe in her presence, a woman who killed you if she kissed you, a woman fiercely protective of what was _hers_ { _Sal, Mikhail_ }. There was Queen Evie, with her blue locks and big, black eyes that begged and enchanted. Queen Evie, with her pale, strong limbs and her dresses and her knowledge making her powerful. Queen Evie, with the scars of the plastic surgery her mama had made her get. Queen Evie, who never wore makeup, to spite her mother. Queen Evie, who was a _fucking genius_. Queen Evie, with her strength and her power and her _lust_ { _AnaelVenusAphroditeFreyaHathorConquest_ _boiled and fought inside her, their chosen_ } who wedded Elsa and Hayden, who started a school of magick and death to spite the Fairy Godmother, who had always thought she was more a _pretty girl_ than anything else, who had poisoned Snow White and made her _whole family watch_.

Then there was King Carlos (the _Deceitful_ , the one who'd made himself look weak and fragile when he was stronger than every boy in Auradon). King Carlos, who had once used technology to break the _magick barrier_. King Carlos, _Set_ , with his unerring loyalty to _Hathor_ and _Horus_ and _Anubis_. King Carlos, who stood next to _MinervaAthenaThoth_ with pride, King Carlos who wore his mother's skin as a coat and had skinned one-hundred-and-one dalmatians, who had skinned a bear and a panther and a wolf. King Carlos, who had sent Alice { _not_ _ **the**_ _Alice_ } to kill a pregnant woman because she'd been _cheating_. King Carlos, who spent his life as a King designing and inventing and creating. King Carlos, who requested a sacrifice from his people. King Carlos, with cigarette burns across his body, with marks where Angelique Mors had hit him too hard, with a limp in the leg that had been grasped by the _bear traps_ his mother had put in his closet { _where he slept_ } to keep her furs safe. King Carlos who looked upon the Feast of Fools every year, and _smiled_ and laughed with joy.

There was King Jay, the High King, the _Avenger_. The one who led armies to war and tore apart nations, the one who embodied _Thor and Mars and Ares_ , the one who ruled and the one who killed, the King who slaughtered for his high queen. There was King Jay, with tattoos of snakes and demons and sigils that Queen Mal had _created_ for him. King Jay, the player, the flirt, the defender, with split lips and broken bones that set wrong and puncture marks in his stomach where Maleficent's metal-toed boot had kicked him more than once. King Jay who wore red nail polish and armour and whose smile meant _death_. King Jay who had given his lovers everything, just like he'd always wanted to { _you are a king and you will give your lovers everything they deserve and more when we reach Auradon_ }. King Jay who had fought Li Lonnie for her life { _who had let Li win_ }, who had slaughtered Ariel's entire family because she _betrayed them_ { _gave her son to her worst enemy_ }. High King Jay, the djinn, the one who was loyal to Uriah { _Aaron_ } because he'd granted Ursula those three wishes. High King Jay, a genius in his own right, because his mind held all the power and knowledge of an ancient civilization { _species_ }.

And then. Then, there was the Highest of them all. The fae who had led them to victory. High Queen Mal. The _powerful_ { _all-powerful_ }. The woman with a scar running from her cheekbone to the tip of her ear, who wielded Maleficent's staff and the Faerie Godmother's wand, but didn't need to, because she was _so_ powerful that a pure thought could materialise. There was Queen Mal who brought _Death_ , because Death was a constant through every universe, through every civilization, every century, every _pattern_. High Queen Mal, who kissed her Queen with the anger that the Isle instilled in every Descendant but never died, who gave her High King free reign to kill, who gave her _deceitful King_ everything he could ever want for and _so much more_ , because his mother hadn't. High Queen Mal the Powerful, who killed Gianna Ratcliffe because _she thought_ she could take on the Iron Court. The Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse, the Queen of the Fae, the woman who wrought an alliance with the HellQueen, who sold her body to feed her lovers and who still danced because she'd taken something she'd hated about herself and _owned_ it. High Queen Mal, Creator of the Thrones, enslaver of Auradon { _the fae who used the laws to her advantage_ }. Queen of the Unseelie Court. High Queen Mal, who cut off her husband's head while he was still riding out his pleasure, who brought _Justice_ to the Isle of the Lost, who killed Maleficent and didn't _tell anyone_ because she _didn't deserve to be remembered_. High Queen Mal, the fae who wore an iron ring to prove her strength to the world, who was scarred so that stars threw her face into a new definition.

The **Blood Palace** housed the four Kings and Queens, was their Mount Olympus, their Asgard { _there would be a place, in each cycle, that was sacred to the Gods. And Mal, Evie, Jay and Carlos were_ _ **gods**_ }. It was their stronghold, and they'd never leave because this was where their family was, where their _lovers_ were.

"Let them scream. It doesn't bother me," Queen Evie laughed. The screams of the prisoners of the **Blood Palace** echoed through the throne room, ringing in the ears of the Kings and Queens, complementing the gorgeous laugh of the succubus Queen { _everything complemented the succubus Queen_ }. A particularly loud scream sounded, the voice it belonged to reminiscent to a friend of long ago, and the Queens smiled, leaning over their thrones to kiss each other.

The High King smiled at the display of affection, smiled as the fae Queen paled slightly { _the effects of a succubus were smaller if she tried- not that Queen Evie tried often_ }, smiled as he pulled King Carlos closer on his lap. Rivulets of blood ran down the High Queen's chair to join the splatters on the floor, the blood of her fellow Queen running as Queen Evie accidentally grabbed the throne of the fae, covered in thorns { _briars_ }. He smiled at the thought that they were _finally_ getting what they deserved.

{ _Because this was their palace. This was their home. The entire land that had once been the United States of Auradon was_ _ **theirs**_ _, the people were theirs. They'd lived off nothing but scraps for_ _ **so long**_ _, because of those pathetic "heroes" who did nothing, who never tried, who wanted to defeat the one thing that will_ _ **always**_ _survive._ _ **Evil**_ _._ _ **Darkness**_ _. That's the heroes of Auradon didn't survive- they didn't embrace the darkness that lived inside them._

 _The Kings and Queens, and their Blood Palace, and their Iron Court would survive. Because they were the greatest {_ _ **you could be a hero, or you could be the best**_ _}, they'd brought about the_ _ **darkest age**_ _imaginable, and they were the heroes and the saviours of their generation, of their people {_ _ **the people of the Isle of the Lost**_ _}. They were_ _ **the heroes of the darkest age**_ _._ }


	2. Two

_Two_

' _Do you know how pretty you are?'_ The question was something Evie heard often. She'd heard it all the time, through her years on the Isle of the Lost, and then Auradon. But she hadn't heard it from this particular person in a long, _long_ time. She hadn't thought she would, ever again.

' _Helena?'_ Evie turned around to face the first girl whose heart she'd broken. Helena looked well. She was more muscled than she had been, her black hair glossy and her scars covered with a thin layer of makeup. She was wearing a pair of jeans and boots { _she'd never stop defying her dad, even long after she'd killed him_ }. She was smiling, her lips a bright red to match her coat- that of a naval officer. She wore a sword at her side, ' _Wow. I- it's been so long. I've missed you.'_ The queen closed in for a hug, and the pirate obliged. Then Evie took a step back, taking in the girl in front of her.

' _You look good. Auradon has done you well. Or, what's left of it.'_

The pirate smiled, ' _And it's you I have to thank for that.'_ Her eyes glittered, and the thin sliver of guilt that had been eating at Evie for _so long_ made an appearance, ' _I only left you because mamma almost found out. You know that right? I really loved you. But Gianna had seen us, and she was going to tell mamma, who'd tell Captain Hook. It was for your safety.'_

Helena rolled her eyes, a fond smile on her lips, ' _Queen Evie. I know. I forgave you long ago. It was all part of the pattern anyway.'_ The succubus queen smiled, a true, joyous smile and her happiness spoke volumes of the respect she had for the woman in front of her, ' _It's just Evie. That's why you're here, then? Visiting Miranda?'_

The raven-haired girl nodded secretively, ' _And something else. I- I've got a girlfriend.'_ The squeal that followed her admission could have shattered glass. The queen was so, so excited { _proud_ }. She led her old flame through the twisting halls of her palace to a lounge adjacent to the throne room and sat her down { _offered her a drink, served by the son of Cinderella. Helena asked for whiskey- and where'd she learn_ _ **that**_ _habit?_ }.

'A girlfriend? You _must_ tell me everything! What's she like?'

'Well, she's beautiful. And so strong. And she doesn't take shit from anyone, even me. She came with me, when I… dealt with dad, even though it's not her scene,' Helena was blushing a beautiful pink, and Evie was smiling, proud. She could see how much Helena _adored_ her girlfriend, 'She taught me to swim, you know? And, um, she's going to come with me. On my ship. We're going to sail, together.'

The queen was beaming, 'Oh, I'm so happy for you! Helena, you really deserved this. Even Sif and Pakhet got their happy endings. But- why are you here, then? I know we've already given you approval to sail?'

And then, the High King burst into the room, pride adorning his face, 'Eve, baby, you'll never believe what's happened- I just had to fight _Li Lonnie_ for her life, at the request of Lei. It's the weirdest thing ever. You've _got_ to come to help me figure it out, cause Mal's off with Carlos somewhere, so they're useless-' he broke off when he noticed Evie's guest, who had been sitting quietly.

'Oh- hey, Helena! Didn't know you were here. You can come too if you want? I guess?' The captain nodded, amused, and waited for the monarchs to leave, before exiting herself.

And there she stood.

Lonnie hadn't been beautiful when Helena had met her. She'd had branches on her hair and blood on her face, and she'd been fighting for her life. And Helena had fallen in love. Lonnie's hair had been cropped short when they met, but it had reached her shoulders now. She wore a leather jacket and thick eyeliner as she stood in front of the High King and succubus queen, her head held high and her shoulders thrown back. Helena's best sword at her side, and she was breathing heavily.

Helena knew she loved easily { _a trait her father had always hated_ }, but with Lonnie, it was deeper, stronger. Lonnie was smart and good with a sword, and prettier than Evie had ever been { _at least to Helena_ }. So she'd challenged Lei when she'd tried to kill Lonnie, and Lei had insisted on a duel between Lonnie and Jay. Lonnie had _won_.

Really, what could Helena do _but_ kiss her?

And Evie smiled, and Jay shouted out in surprise.

'Holy shit! Evie, did you know? 'Cause if you did, you shoulda told me. I'da gone a helluva lot easier on Lonnie- though I already wasn't tryin' real hard,' he mused. Lonnie broke away from Helena and turned to Jay, 'Now, Jay, if you'd gone any easier, it _really_ wouldn't have been a fight.'

Jay just stuck his tongue out at the happy couple and laughed, shooing them out of 'his' throne room.

'Oh- Helena!' Evie called out once more, just before the two women exited the throne room, 'What's the name of your ship going to be? You said you'd tell us next time you came by!'

And Helena smiled, turned around to face the High King and a Queen.

' _Sappho.'_


	3. Three

_Three_

The Casting Room was the most beautiful room in the Blood Palace, that was definite. It might even have been the most beautiful place in this world. It held none of the mysterious glory of the moors at night or the traditional elegance of the halls of Queen Evie's School of Wild Magicks. But it was full of diamonds that only glittered under stars, stacked with vials of the blood of each citizen of Auradon, splashed with ink and scattered with the faerie dust that was so rarely allowed in Auradon when the _Beasts_ (ha!) ruled.

But, regardless of whether the Casting Room was the most beautiful place in all the universes, it was _off-limits_. Because it belonged to Queen Mal. The Casting Room was where she escaped to _breathe_ , to feel, and to _collect_. And oh, she did. And she was _glorious_. Her hair was ragged and wet, and her lips cracked {and sometimes she'd waste away, but then her lovers would come to fetch her}, but she was glorious nonetheless, her eyes wild and vivid, and her skin sparkling and crackling with life and magick.

Because sometimes, even the High Queen needed time off { _she needed more than most, she hadn't had any as a child_ }. Because sometimes, the screams of her victims echoed in her ears { _other times, her screams and her mother's, intermingling pain and fury_ } and she couldn't **breathe** , and sometimes the magick that she'd never had access to rushed up inside her and her bones **ached**.

{ _And sometimes, in the dead of night, when she was casting spells and collecting souls, she regretted what she did._

 _Because Ben was good or would have been. If Auradon had morals, had a system that could be trusted. If people could be good._

 _ **But they couldn't**_ _._ }.

And the High Queen had a project. A creation so _beautiful_ that all would stop and stare. A creation so stunning that people would stop and stare and she'd regain what was rightfully _hers_ , she'd regain her birthright and be worthy of the title _fae_. So she locked herself in the Casting Room, let her magick power it, used the blood of a succubus and a djinn and a half-fae and a _human_ and began crafting what would be the ultimate sculpture, _brought to life_.

And she carved them out of moonlight, out of slices so thin they'd shatter if you breathed too hard. She embedded stars and electricity and fire in gems that she scattered into the sculpture, poured the blood of her enemies { _Audrey, and her mother, were particularly useful_ } into their veins, hewed ancient sigils of the gods and the witches and the fae into their very being, layered them over with magick so vital, so potent, she'd had to harvest it from curses { _because magick couldn't be created or destroyed, and killing the fae was a crime punishable by death_ }. She'd breathed life into them { _the second favour from a djinn_ }, and laced them with her soul. They shone with the black light of Death and the golden light of the sun.

* * *

And the High Queen laid back on the marble table, her hair fanning out around her like a halo, her lungs gasping for air, her eyes wide yet unresponsive, unseeing. Her nails long and sharp { _claws- she'd learnt from Cruella de Vil_ } and scratching at her skin, trying to pull herself out of some hell that only she saw.

Behind her, flat on the table, lay the most gorgeous pair of wings that the world would ever see. They outshone even Queen Evie. Or they would have. Because no matter the painstaking effort put into them, no matter what magick their creator used, they'd never be _real_ wings. The Fae Queen would never fly, and the Queen of the Fae would always be an outcast { _because she was imperfect, impure, she was_ _ **other**_ } because wings were _life_.

Tears poured out her eyes, sliding down her face. Her mouth was opened in a silent scream, and the absolute _pain_ and _betrayal_ of life was sealed on her face. And that was when _they_ entered. All beautiful, all with regret echoing through their eyes. They looked over the scene, from the smashed vials of blood to the light bouncing against the walls of the cavern { _for, truly, that was what it was_ } and their Queen, broken as she was, broken and battered on the table { _you will never be accepted because you will never be_ _ **good**_ _. The words of the fae court rang through her ears_ }.

And the strong one, the djinn, had picked her up and carried her { _like a blushing bride, like_ _ **before**_ } to their bed, their bed as wide as a room that they'd all once curled up in, freezing and starving. And he'd lain next to her, held her, kept her body heat up and her arms tightly bound to her chest. And the succubus stroked her lover's cheek { _who cares if they think we're wrong? They're nothing, and we're Queens. In love. They can't_ _ **stop**_ _our love_ } and whispered sweet nothings. And the King stood guard over the wings, stood guard and scowled at any who passed the Casting Room, stood guard and drew his sword against the fae court when they came to take them { _these are_ _ **hers**_ _. And one day, she'll use them to fucking_ _ **fly**_ _. So if you come near them, I'll kill you,_ and he grins, baring his teeth { _ **Pestilence**_ }, _I have no qualms with killing the entire race of fae. As far as I'm concerned, you can all go rot in_ _ **Hell**_ }.

* * *

' _You know,'_ whispered Evie softly, ' _It would be much harder to scrape nails down your back if you had wings.'_

Mal choked out a watery laugh, which broke down into something of a sob, ' _We all have bad days, Mal. That's okay. It's not the point.'_

' _Because every other day is the best day. And maybe we took that by force. And maybe, some people don't like it. But we clawed our way up from Hell by the tips of our fingers and then bleached off the scars so we'd be beautiful. So we'll kiss each other and make love till the fucking sun comes up, and then we'll rule our kingdom over the ashes of the courts that used to deny us, because we're the heroes, Mal. And they're just liars.'_


	4. Four

_Four_

' _And now announcing: King Hayden and Queen Elsa of Arendelle!'_

The ballroom was done, of course, to perfection. Like Queen Evie would settle for anything less. Elsa had been married in the Blood Palace, but this- this was something else. The walls and floors of the room shone, and the thrones atop a balcony were made of gold and jewels. They weren't symbolic of anything but the _power_ of the Kings and Queens. Elsa could see King Jay and King Carlos sitting at their thrones, both in suits that looked to be sculpted for their bodies { _Queen Evie went all-out, for every gala, every ball, every dinner. She was_ _ **amazing**_ }. But the Kings, handsome though they were, weren't what attracted the attention of the room tonight. No, that was the Queens.

High Queen Mal wore the dress she'd worn to the coronation of her late husband, but it had been woven tighter, had thin strings of gold woven into the dress itself, and it shone { _the thin splatters of blood on the dress didn't detract from the effect at all, Elsa thought. If anything, they made the dress even more unique, more perfectly suited to the High Queen_ }. But the High Queen wasn't the centre of tonight's festivities, and that showed.

Queen Evie laughed as she danced with her wife, her dress floating out around her. Her hair had been curled, and she left it down, contrasting with the bun of the fae queen. Her makeup made her _glow_ in the soft candlelight, her lips painted a dark purple and her eyes dark. And her _dress_. Made entirely of chiffon and lace, it covered her skin and clung to her body, accentuating her curves and proving { _once again_ } her beauty. The dress sparkled with thousands of tiny diamonds, and would be considered a masterpiece { _if anyone other than the Angelic Queen was wearing it, because the dress's beauty paled in comparison to her_ } And so, when Elsa entered, the first thing she saw was the Queens, dancing to a song as upbeat and vibrant as they were, drawing the attention of the room.

But as Hayden lead her onto the dancefloor, she realised that she, too, was drawing plenty of stares. And to no wonder. She had been the villain of her own story, but had turned to _love_ to _good_ , and had allowed _another_ person to be locked up on the infernal Isle { _that she'd regretted it the moment it had happened was inconsequential. These people didn't know that_ }. But Elsa wore a dress made of ice, and wore red lips, and danced with her husband, ignoring the glares that came from the people of Chess { _they didn't call it Auradon anymore but had never renamed it- but it was nicknamed Chess, for its two Kings and two Queens and rules of blood and death_ }. They weren't, after all, _her_ people. They didn't matter. And so she danced, changing partners and floating through the room, happy with her place in life.

Eventually, she joined the Queens.

But they just dragged her in, smiling and laughing, shaking their heads and throwing their arms in the air. Queen Evie pressed a kiss to her lips as they danced, changing the colour of her lipstick { _and when Hayden spotted it later, he just laughed, "She is a good kisser, isn't she?"_ } and the High Queen just pulled Elsa in closer {" _I saved you for a reason. I know what you did in the Isle Court. I'm glad you've found happiness"_ }, spinning her around dancing as if there were no tomorrow. Queen Evie's birthday parties were always a night to remember.

When Elsa extracted herself and her husband from the dancefloor, the Queen had long since joined their husbands on the balcony overlooking the floor, and the four sat together, looking over the guests with smiles on their faces and gleams in their eyes { _from their vantage point, they could see Helena and Lonnie kissing in the corner, could see Dimitri and Astoria basking in their love (there were very few nights in the year when they dared to come out and do such), could see Evie's darling Sal dancing and flirting_ _and they'd decided that this was perfection, exchanging secretive smiles_ }.

' _Ladies and Gentlemen: Duke Hans and Duchess Anna of the Southern Isles!'_

Hayden frowned, "They didn't tell me they'd invited them. I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have brought you if I'd known she was coming."

Elsa rolled her eyes fondly. Sometimes, he could just be too kind. She wondered how he'd have turned out if he wasn't raised on the Isle of the Lost, "It's fine. I've no qualms with your father, and I know you miss him. If Anna wishes to complain," she broke off, putting her hand to her stomach lightly, where you could just see a bump if you knew to look, "Then that shall be her problem. I have the Queens' favour where she doesn't. If anything comes to blows- verbal or physical- she'll be the one to suffer."

Anna was wearing a gown similar to the one she'd worn the day that she met Hans, but for one change- her arms and neck were covered. Hans was a jealous man { _Hayden had told her many times_ } and he was protecting what was his from the rest of the world { _not uncommon among the descendants, or the villains who'd survived the Day of Reckoning_ }. Her hair was piled on top of her head, held in place by one hundred pins, each topped by a diamond, making her shine almost as much as Queen Evie. But where everyone else was smiling, excited for and proud of their monarchs, Anna's face was solemn. She held herself as far away from her husband as possible, shoulders tense and eyes dead { _and maybe, if the ice hadn't changed her, Elsa might have felt sorry for her sister- after all, she's been happy with Kristoff. But most of their friends were now dead, and Anna was still alive and beautiful, even if her youth was slipping away_ }.

Elsa could feel her sister's eyes boring into the back of her neck, but she ignored it, turning instead to gossip with Felicia Facilier, who stood proud in a traditional Zulu beaded dress { _she'd spent years tracking down her heritage, because her spells and potions relied so heavily on olden stories, and she didn't know where the stories came from_ }. Hayden held her close to his side, and she smiled. Happy.

{ _She fit in at last_ }.

* * *

"You know, you didn't deserve what you got," the Duchess of the Southern Isles whispered in her ear. The snow queen whipped around, hand pressed to her chest, eyes wide in surprise.

"Oh! Anna! I didn't notice you! Would you like my champagne? An attendant handed it to me a while back, but, well," she broke off, sending her sister and excited glance which wasn't returned, "I'm not exactly in a condition for alcohol."

The redhead seemed unmoved, pressing her lips tighter together. She did, however, take the flute from her sister, and downed the whole thing in one gulp. But she still remained silent.

"Erm, well… it's really good to see you, Anna. I thought that you and Hans didn't come to these events anymore? Not that there's anything wrong with you being here, I just thought you hated the Queens' parties?"

"Our presence was required here," Anna replied stiffly, the alcohol doing nothing to loosen her tongue, "by the High Queen herself. That's not an invitation one can refuse on the pretext of disliking parties." The white streak in Anna's hair had been joined by several more since Elsa's coronation and not the magick kind. She looked tired, where her sister looked no older than her early twenties. A queen trapped in time and a duchess trapped in a marriage. So altered by their circumstances.

"Yes, well aren't you glad you came? It's the party of the year, Evie's parties always are. And aren't the decorations simply gorgeous? She's outdone herself, this time."

"On a first-name basis with the Queens, Elsa? I suppose it's just another betrayal to add to the list, at this point?" A few tears sprung to the Queen of Arendelle's eyes. She may not love her sister anymore, or even like her very much, but they were family. And the children of the Isle had taught her to honour and cherish family. She tried to defuse the situation.

"I- yes. Evie married Hayden and me, and Mal saved my life. I've been round to the palace a few times when Hayden's been busy. They're all lovely people, Anna." The duchess's eyes narrowed.

"You know what you are, Elsa? You're a whore. Perhaps not literally," she continued quickly, seeing her sister trying to break in, "although you weren't exactly a virgin when you married Hayden. But you change yourself, sell yourself out, just to be fucking liked. I wish- I wish you'd died with mum and dad."

By this point, the sisters were drawing a fair amount of attention, with even the Kings and Queens rising from their thrones to watch. And when Anna's words rang out across the ballroom, it began to rapidly be filled with shouts. All the children of the Isle of the Lost knew how Queen Elsa had fought for their rights and safety within the Isle Court, knew she was the reason that so few of them were dead { _and the body count so still_ _ **so**_ _**high**_ }. Several people tried to come to the rescue of this _angel_ that had saved them so much pain but were held back by the sight of King Carlos, descending the staircase, heading directly towards the two sisters of Arendelle.

"Dutchess," he began, and left the acknowledgement at that { _after all, he was the King. He could do whatever he wanted_ }, " _Your majesty._ " He bowed to Elsa, but not the bow of acknowledgement of an equal- a bow to acknowledge a superior. The hall was, by this point, utterly silent. _Deference from King Carlos_ was unheard of. He'd always been the most secluded of the Kings and Queens, of the Iron Court. Even on the Isle of the Lost. And now, he'd named Queen Elsa his better.

"I trust that you weren't hurt, your majesty," he continued speaking to the Queen of Arendelle, ignoring her sister entirely, "and that you hold very little attachment to this _urchin_." When she shook her head, he just smiled. And then he turned to face the wife of Hans, "Your sister is worth a million of you, for she has maintained kindness in even the cruellest of circumstances, has found love in a situation she thought hopeless and has given us what we were _due_. Your sister was the hero of her story, but she held nothing against the villain, which is more than most could have said. You don't deserve to breathe her air," he broke off, grinning, "and you no longer and your husband are to leave, immediately, and never come near Elsa or Hayden ever again. If you neglect to follow my order, I'll make my mother's death look like _child's play_."

He raised his voice, allowing it to echo across the hall, "Hear this and let it be true: should you ever hurt Queen Elsa again, the wrath of Pestilence shall rain down upon you. Duchess Anna of the Southern Isles, so it is said, so it shall be." His spouses' voices echoed him, " _So it is heard, so it shall be."_ And the vindictive smile on the King's face was enough to send Anna scurrying for the door, and set the guests off, cheering wildly. And Elsa just smiled.

"Well, now that that fun is out of the way," Queen Evie's voice sounded from the balcony where she stood, "the High Queen has an announcement." All attention turned to the thrones, and Mal stood up, smiling.

"It's been just less than a year since I killed my husband," there were cheers, "and since we took what was rightfully ours!"

"But this is now a kingdom, and kingdoms must be run. And Evie and I have sworn to never have heirs." This time, the hall was deathly silent, "But we know someone who already has." Elsa's eyes widened, and she knew what was coming before Mal said it.

"Once the Iron Court chooses to abdicate, the Child of Queen Elsa shall rule."

{ _We trust you._ }

"Mine save yours once, Elsa. One day, yours shall save mine."

The cheers were deafening.


	5. Five

_Five_

Sally-Anne didn't live in a palace. But she lived in a glorious mansion and embraced all the luxuries she'd never had on the Isle of the Lost. She was young, only nineteen when Queen Mal killed her husband and took over Auradon with Evie and Jay and Carlos, but she relished in the freedom that was granted to her. And she changed.

On the Isle of the Lost, her Daddy would lock her up on Samhain, would keep her away from the Kings and Queens and anyone he dubbed a 'freak'. But Sal { _for she wasn't Sally-Anne anymore, not really. She'd changed too much to be the innocent Daddy's girl she'd been the day she'd met Queen Mal_ } now went wild, running free on Samhain, joining the rituals she could find and celebrating in the magick of Queen Mal and Felicia and anyone who practised. She wore dresses woven of the finest silks and magicks and carried herself the same way Queen Evie used to { _when she was nothing but a seductress, before she was a Queen_ }, flirting and taking and loving freely { _she ran from her past, took control of the_ _ **one**_ _thing that had been taken from her_ }. Sally-Anne's dad had been imprisoned because of his _childishness_ , so that was the one thing she swore to never be, and she grew up as soon as possible.

* * *

When Sal needed something, she took it. Or, rather, she made sure it was _given_ to her. And she knew that Mikhail Medusa had an original _Jessie_ doll, one that didn't move or talk, but just stood still, stood proud. And she _wanted_ it { _wanted to remember that she was_ _ **more**_ _than someone's toy, more than her daddy_ }. So she ran to the boutique one evening, just before it was to close, and slipped in through the door, taking careful steps to not let the bell ring. And there he stood, Mikhail Medusa, smirking slightly { _he knew all about Sal's exploits. He knew she'd learned from the best. And he knew that he'd bested the best_ } and leaning on the glass counter, right above the doll that Sal knew would be hers by the end of the night. And so, she began her attack.

"Mikhail Medusa, right? My name's Sally-Anne Phillips. Though, most just call me Sal," she flashed a brilliant smile, and the stone-cold man briefly _smiled_. Then he schooled his face.

"And Queen Evie is one of the most, I suppose?"

 _He'd heard of her. That_ _ **would**_ _make it harder. But she'd still succeed. That doll would be_ _ **hers**_ _._

"Well, yes. She gave me the name. It would be odd if she didn't use it, wouldn't it?" And Mikhail actually _laughed_ , a full-bellied laugh that burst from somewhere deep within him.

"I, ah, suppose it would," he paused, looking her up and down, assessing her, "But come now, Sally-Anne. You're not here for small talk. You're here for the doll." And the girl just prowled closer, not letting her impression show, until she was leaning over the counter, practically nose-to-nose with the owner of _Mikhail Medusa's Boutique and Pawn Shop_.

"No, I guess I'm not. However, now that I'm here, and enjoying the small talk, I think I might stay awhile. Maybe the doll isn't the only thing I'm after."

"Well, then you'll be waiting for a long time, sister. I don't _do_ relationships, in case you hadn't heard." { _Oh, but she had. She knew that the Tremaine cousins had propositioned him and that he'd said no, and she knew that he'd turned down Queen Evie herself_ }

"And why is that, Mikhail? Is it because you're entirely uninterested? Or because you haven't found _the one_ yet? Or maybe it's just the sex. You and Lei did have a relationship for a few days before she broke it off on the pretext of needing to _train_."

Mikhail smiled wide, "You're smarter than they give you credit for." He put out his hand for her to shake, "Nice to meet you. I'm Mikhail Medusa, asexual, son of a drunk, owner of this boutique." Sally-Anne giggled and shook his hand, "The pleasure is all mine. My name is _Sal_ Phillips, and I'm the new owner of a _Jessie the Yodeling Cowgirl_ doll."

"Not yet."

"You were going to give her to me anyway, don't lie."

"Well, yes. But you're still being rather presumptuous."

"Wanna get married?"

"I take it back. _That's_ presumptuous."

"Well?"

"Give me a week."

* * *

And she did. Every morning, Sal came into the tiny boutique (that was frequented surprisingly often) and asked if he'd marry her. And she'd stay for the rest of the day, and they'd joke and laugh and mock his customers once they'd left. And when she began to redecorate, he didn't complain. And when he leaned over and kissed her, she didn't ask for more { _somehow, in all of their overwhelming imperfections, they were perfect for each other_ }.

On the last day, when she asked for the eighth time, he responded with, "I know a guy." To which she said, " _And I know a Queen._ "

So, they were married in the Blood Palace, eight days after they'd met, and their vows held very little words because they'd hardly known each other, but so much substance, because they were perfect for each other. And Queen Evie was the one to say _you may kiss the bride_ to her one that got away { _which made so much more sense now, and the world was back on track_ }, and Queen Mal gifted them with an _island_ for their wedding, and King Jay walked Sal down the aisle { _really her wedding was just perfect for her. Sudden, wild, beautiful_ } and King Carlos made her wedding dress { _for he could sew just as well as Evie could. No shock, not when his mom was the ex-owner of a fashion empire_ }.

* * *

"We met eight days ago. You gave me a doll and I asked you to marry me. On the first day, we shared our stories, on the second day you shared your lunch. On the third day, I decided I was in love, and on the fourth day, you kissed me. On the fifth day, we decided we'd have a perfect daughter, and we spent the sixth day describing her while you taught me to work in the boutique. Yesterday I told Carlos to design my dress, and today we're getting married. And I wouldn't have it any other way. We make perfect sense, Mikhail. And even if we're the only ones who see it, that's fine. Because I love you and you love me and I don't need to wait five years to get married, because I could hardly wait five days."

{ _And from somewhere to her right, her maid of honour (_ _ **High Queen Mal**_ _) nodded happily. And Sal knew what it meant. It meant_ _ **I'm glad I saved you**_ _. It meant_ _ **you've made the right decision**_ _. It meant_ _ **good luck**_.}


	6. Six

_Six_

A sixteen-year-old girl watched from _someplace_ else. She had dark eyes and skin littered with stained her mouth and chin, her hair was straggly and she was made of skin and bone. This was how she'd looked when she'd died, coughing up stood _someplace_ and watched, because that was all she could do.

She watched many people. Old allies and old enemies, people she'd never met and people she'd constantly avoided. She knew _everything_. She knew of the unborn child of the Fae Queen, and she knew about every tryst of the succubus and she knew that her father hadn't realised she'd died for a _month_. She knew the past and the future, knew every proclamation the king would pass before he'd even thought about it, knew every spell and every magick.

But there was one that she watched far, _far_ closer than anyone else. A twenty-two-year-old man, with dark hair and blue eyes, the colour of the sky on the Winter Solstice. A man with strong arms and a stronger constitution, a man who carried a sword and a gun, strapped to his back. A man with a boyfriend whose name didn't actually matter, but whom he loved anyway.

The man's name was Gaston LeGume Jr. and he was her little brother. He'd spent years trying to avenge her, and she'd spent years keeping him from discovering the truth. She could do that now, could protect him and watch over him and he wouldn't ever suffer. She'd watched him form a close friendship with Shan Lei, had watched as he'd taken her case to the Iron Court (and she'd _told_ him not to trust them, but he never _listened_ ), had watched as he'd killed their father (a little over a year ago, now) and she'd kept him from discovering the truth of her death, because then he'd hate her too { _and he couldn't afford to hate any more people. It was already taxing on his health, leading him into duels and battles for honour_ }.

On this particular day when she was watching, she felt a pull and followed it { _well, it's not like things like this happened often. And no matter how grateful she was, death got_ _ **boring**_ }. And then she fell.

* * *

And sat upright in a pool of water, gasping for air. She still looked dead, but she could _breathe_ and she could _feel_ the cool water on her cheek, so this was good enough. After all, she'd _wanted_ to die. She glanced around frantically, trying to find the one who'd summoned her. When she saw no one, she tried to push herself out of the rocky pool, only to encounter a voice warning her against it. Felicia Facilier stepped out of the shadows, "See, that pool is all that's grounding you to this world. Climb out, and your spirit will dissolve, for forever."

Gizelle (for that was the name of the spirit) cautiously sank back down into the water, letting it submerge her until her shoulders. She watched Felicia silently (six years of nothing but _watching_ makes a soul stagnant) wondering why the girl would call her. She, of all people, knew exactly _why_ Gizelle was dead. Knew _how_ she was dead. Knew that Gizelle _wanted_ to be dead. But before she could ask any questions, Felicia called someone into the room. A man, with black hair and blue eyes, with more weapons than he needs, with tanned skin and bulging muscles. A man that Gizelle has been watching over since her death.

" _Gaz!_ " is all she manages to choke out. She can't cry { _she's dead_ } but it feels as if she's coming close. He approaches her, inspecting her face. He goes to grab her chin to force her to face him, but his hand goes straight through her.

"It's living matter. Doesn't interact well with the dead," Felicia advises, but neither sibling really listens. They just stare.

Eventually, Gaz is the first to breaking the silence, bursting into rapid-fire French, " _Je ne savais pas si ça marcherai et Felicia m'a dit que ça me coûterai, mais je devais te voir. Tu m'as tellement manqué Gizelle. Et aujourd'hui, nous obtenons justice. Dis-moi qui t'a tué ma sœur, qui t'a donné le poison que tu as avalé de ton propre gré ? Les Rois et Reines m'ont promis qu'ils souffriront."_

And Gizelle has no response because _she'd killed herself_. She'd wanted to die and she couldn't take that from her brother. But then- as she glanced at the boy who'd grown into a sad, vengeful man- he'd suffer longer if she never told him if she let him continue with his futile quest. She steeled herself.

" _Personne."_ He stumbled back, his eyes unfocused, searching for an escape { _he is not the caged animal_ }. His breathing cuts, for a moment, before he starts again, faster than before { _betrayal flickers in his stomach, fury warming it_ }.

" _Je devais te protéger. Mais je ne pouvais pas le faire de l'Île de l'Oubli. Je t'aimais. Je t'ai sauvé Gaz._ " she ploughed on, trying to make him understand { _it was the only way_ } but he shied further from her. She crawled to the very edge of the pool, trying to reason with her brother, her charge, " _Tu as bien vécu parce que je ne le pouvais pas. Ne part pas Gaston Junior. Accepte-le. Nous ne pouvons pas changer le passé, mais tu peux vivre sans colère maintenant. Mon frère?"_

He was flinching away from her, trying to run. Mumbling.

" _Pas ma sœur. Pas ma sœur."_

And she reached for him.

Felicia screamed, but the soul of Gizelle LeGume was already dust, was already in the aether.

* * *

 ** _Il n'y a pas plus sourd que celui qui ne veut pas entendre._**

 **Gizelle stared at the dark-skinned woman in front of her. Felicia Facilier had pitch-black eyes and more piercings than she could count. Her skin was woven with silver and bone. She was strong muscles and powerful magick was ultimate femininity. By contrast, Gizelle LeGume was small and thin, but not beautiful in the slightest {** _ **maybe if she was, this could have been avoided**_ **}.**

 _ **'Du poison. Tu es sûre ?'**_

 **The sixteen-year-old nodded and took it from the Voodoo Witch in front of her. She knocked it all back in one gulp.**

 _ **'Tu mourras dans trois jours.'**_

* * *

 _1\. I didn't know if it would work, and Felicia said it would cost me, but I had to see you. Gizelle, I've missed you like you wouldn't believe. But today we get justice. Tell me who killed you, sister. Who gave you the poison that you swallowed so willingly? The Kings and Queens have sworn they will suffer._

 _2\. I did._

 _3\. I needed to protect you. But I couldn't do that from the Isle of the Lost. I loved you. I saved you, Gaz._

 _4\. You lived well because I didn't. Don't leave, Gaston Jr. Accept. We can't change the past, but now you can live without anger. Brother?_

 _5\. Not my sister. Not my sister._

 _6\. No one is as deaf as the one who does not want to listen._

 _7\. Poison. Are you sure?_

 _8\. You will die in three days._


	7. Seven

_Seven_

Our secret moments in a crowded room

They got no idea about me and you

Astoria wore a dress woven out of silver and spiderwebs. It hung off her shoulders, the finest silk in the world. Her lips were as dark as her eyes, and purple in colour. Diamonds dripped from her ears and solidified around her neck and wrists, making sparkle in the light. She rarely came out into the public of what was once Cinderellasburg, as she and her husband preferred to work from the shadows { _the shadows were always on their side, even when no one else was_ }. She made eye contact with Dimitri, who stood across the room, socialising and working the crowd.

At functions like these, where no one knew the _true_ nature of their relationship, the Tremaines were always encouraged to act as if they were no more than cousins { _because even in their realm, where incest was legal, those who practised it were still looked down upon, still seen as_ _ **freaks**_ }.

So she spun through dances and laughed brightly, even when all she wanted was to lie in bed. And she kept herself content with slight glances and fond eyes aimed at her partner.

All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting

My hands are shaking from holding back from you...

Dimitri wore a suit designed by Queen Evie herself, and makeup done by world-renowned artists. He danced with the most beautiful women in the world and never once made a pass at any of them. He wore cufflinks that matched his cousin's jewellery, and he wore success like an invisible crown, one that kept his head aloft and his eyes bright.

When he came out of seclusion, he knew how to flatter and charm his way into every room in the world { _but he didn't come out too often, the stinging judgement of his people an excellent deterrent_ }. When he came to the parties that Astoria organised { _but rarely attended_ }, he managed to betray and coerce more people than one would imagine. He told stories of his past, with a cousin that he trusted more than anyone in the world and a friend { _who was now long dead. It had nearly been five years since Mikhail's death_ } who'd changed his life. All the while, he'd be slipping secret messages to his wife, written in a code they'd designed as children { _weren't they just_ _ **so**_ _perfect for each other?_ }.

Carve your name into my bedpost

'Cause I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off.

But at the end of the night { _when it was just them_ } they wouldn't hold back, they wouldn't hide. They'd take to the floor, dancing like professionals { _Anastasia had taught dance on the Isle of the Lost, and they'd been her 'practise classes'_ }. They'd whirl around in each other's arms, only the sound of the orchestra and their breath to accompany them.

They were each other's _forever_ , they knew that much { _they'd been through too much, together_ } and when there was no one left in the room, they could act like it, exchanging sweet nothings { _and wedding rings, once upon a time._

" _And you're sure about this?" Mikhail asked, straightening his best friend's suit._

" _I've never been surer of anything in my life," Dimitri responded, his breathing slow and his shoulders square, "I love Astoria. Nothing will ever change that, Mike."_

 _Mikhail scowled at the nickname, before breaking into a wide grin, "Well, it's your head on the platter, mate." He clapped Dimitri on the shoulder, before opening the door for him, "Come on, the ceremony's about to start."_

" _You know," Dimitri couldn't help but get in the last word, "had you taken us up on our offer, you could have been a way bigger part of this ceremony."_

 _He grinned boyishly, and his best friend just laughed, pushing him towards the altar_ }.

And with those sweet nothings came whispered confessions {" _I only bought this dress because I thought you'd like it," she'd tell him, and he'd laugh and tell her that he liked it better when she_ _ **didn't**_ _wear it_ }. Which led to their marital bed and love like it was in the beginning, when they first began { _because Dimitri and Astoria were both already Tremaines, so it wasn't as if that much changed, really_ }. And in the morning, they'd fall in love all over again, remembering their past and designing their future { _together_ }.

Inescapable, I'm not even gonna try

And if I get burned, at least we were electrified.

Sometimes, Astoria remembered the early moments, when she'd still thought that what they were doing was _wrong_ , that they should { _could_ } stop, should go back to the way it was before. Now, there was no more before, there was just the buildup, and the result. Now, they were rejected by _so many_ { _Gaston Jr., with a sibling that he'd loved, hated them the most because he couldn't imagine that love changing, not the way it had for the Tremaines_ }. But they were _in love_ , so they couldn't give a _fuck_.

And sure, people scorned them and snubbed them, but those people were worth _nothing_ to the Tremaines { _who only had a place in their hearts for each other, now_ }.

Flashback to my mistakes

My rebounds, my earthquakes

Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me

"Do you think we could have loved him?" Astoria asked one night when they lay next to each other, bare between the sheets.

"I don't know," Dimitri responded, pulling her closer, "I like to think so. But I know Sally-Anne loved him, and that's enough for me."

Astoria pushed herself up on her elbows, facing her husband, "Well, obviously. I'd never have split them. But when we asked him to join us- the first time. Do you think he would have been happy if he said yes?" Insecurity flickered in her eyes, and Dimitri wanted to give her the answer she so craved.

But he couldn't.

"No."

When she pulled back, hurt, he rushed to continue, "Our relationship is so very _physical_ ," he told her, running his hands down her arms, "And we both know that he _wasn't_. I loved him as much as you did, but everything worked out for the best."

"He's dead now," she accused, eyes filling with tears, "How is that for the best?"

And Dimitri pulled her against his chest, soothing her, "I don't know," he whispered into her ear, " _I don't know. The Lord works in mysterious ways,_ Astoria. He's doing this for a reason."

And his wife nodded silently, pulling him into a kiss. " _The Lord works in mysterious ways_ ," she reaffirmed.

They fell back into bed, reassuring each other through touches and breathy whispers { _the loss of their friend had struck them deeply, but the Tremaines were strong, stronger than they could have imagined. So they went through their life, honouring Mikhail and each other_ _ **because they had nothing else**_ }.

You made your mark on me, golden tattoo

 _Only bought this dress so you could take it off_


	8. Eight

_Eight_

Miranda Gothel's room in the Blood Palace was beautiful. It was light, large french windows letting in light while filtering out the rays that had caused her skin to blister the first time she'd stepped out of her tower. There were no curtains, as she refused to ever be cornered into one room again { _although she didn't actually leave her room much, the lack of curtains meant she'd never be truly sealed off from the rest of the world_ }. It was a circular room, the entire floor carpeted with the softest materials found in all the world. A huge bed was slotted into the wall perfectly, made specifically for the room. Double doors opened into a giant closet and bathroom, tiled and brightly lit with fluorescent lighting.

The rest of the walls were encompassed by bookshelves that reached up to the ceiling, nearly two stories above the floor. Books floated between shelves, rearranging themselves as Miranda pleased, zooming into her hands when summoned. The books ranged through every genre, every age, every edition and every author filled the shelves by colour, or alphabetical order, or whatever Miranda had decided on.

Except for one shelf.

It held texts of languages that had been lost for centuries, information on creatures and gods and everything in between, stories and journals she'd collected that had taught her more about the pattern, about the design of the higher power { _she hesitated to give It a name, but she knew that in the times of Auradon, there had been an entire religion that surrounded this power, that named it the Creator_ }. Each text held its own place and was never touched by any magick other than that it had already imbibed when Miranda had found it. They were arranged in chronological order of their content, so that the presence of Hela, for example, never came before the White Horseman.

The last time someone had tried to touch the books, her eyes had rolled back into her head, and she'd begun to scream { _that person was_ _ **dead**_ _now, courtesy of the Kings and Queens_ }. She'd been weak for months, but she'd insisted on sleeping on the floor in front of the bookcase, the concept of the tomes even being _touched_ sending her into a panic attack.

Now, she stood in the exact centre of the room, her position sending flashes through her mind, images of an eight-year-old girl with regrets and a terrible future { _a young girl stood in the centre of a circular room. Her dark hair reached her shoulders and was held back from her face by a faded yellow ribbon. She wore a plain black frock with a white apron tied around her chest. She wore school shoes and white socks that came up to her knees. She stared straight into her own eyes, into the dirty mirror that lined every room of the wall_ }. Her head was thrown back and her breathing deep. Something was coming { _a minor repetition. Patterns within patterns, spirals within spirals_ }. A door slammed, and her eyes snapped open { _something rattled, and the chipped door slammed against one of the mirrors, spreading the cracks further across the gleaming walls_ }.

A King walked in.

Miranda's face lit up, "Carlos!" she exclaimed, bouncing towards him and enveloping him in a hug. The King laughed as he returned the hug, his fur coat covering both of them. He brushed her dark hair out of her face, "We're going to have to cut your hair soon." Unlike Rapunzel, Miranda had elected to keep her hair long after the death of her mother, although it wasn't _quite_ as long as it had been, once upon a time { _it came down to the dimples on her lower back. "Much more manageable," she'd joke, even when pulling the worst knots out of the bottom of her hair_ }.

Miranda just smiled at him. They had never gotten that much time alone { _Mother Gothel's tower was notoriously hard to sneak into, and Miranda never left the tower_ }, and Carlos's responsibilities as king often seemed endless.

"Tell me about everything! What's going on? How's Mal? And Queen Elsa's baby? Does she like the name I picked out? I wasn't sure about being asked to do it in the first place, and I settled on the first name I thought of. But it's just _so perfect_ for the pattern, my King. That little girl could never have truly felt comfortable under another name, I don't think."

The blond King smiled at his pseudo-sister, her enthusiasm spilling over and into him. "Everything?" he asked, his eyes following her movements fondly as she extracted herself from his embrace and flitted around the room, collecting her "visitors kit" (as she called it). She hummed in confirmation, spreading a picnic blanket { _it was customary, rather than necessary_ } and handing Carlos one of the bright red apples she kept in a basket { _handpicked by Queen Evie_ }.

And they spoke for hours, Carlos taking her advice on all forms of matters of state and defence, listening and learning from the girl that had taught him what he was worth, even when his mother would kick him to the curb or leave him out in the cold.

When the conversation was winding down, he motioned to one of the guards at the door, and they handed him the gift he'd originally come to bring. Miranda had drifted into a state of complete relaxation and calm, her eyes unfocused and her mind running at a thousand miles per hour. He shook her gently, and she came back to the room, a smile plastered across her face.

"I have something for you," he told her, careful to not let his face betray anything as he handed her the wrapped gift. She tore into the paper excitedly, coming to an abrupt halt when she finally unveiled the gift. She looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears.

"Oh!" she exclaimed softly, "Of Carlos, she's beautiful! I- is the queen sure?" When he nodded, she threw herself into his arms. They sat like that for nearly half an hour until he gently extracted himself at the call of Evie, who stood at the door { _no one entered the sanctuary without the explicit permission of Miranda. It just_ _ **wasn't**_ _**done**_ }.

* * *

A frame stood alone on the table next to the bed. The frame itself was made of silver and crystal, intricate carvings all around the picture inside. A baby girl, with thick white hair and dark eyes { _the eyes of her father, dark, dark eyes that pierced people's souls_ } stared up at her while clutching a silk blanket. Or rather, a blanket that had once been silk, but now seemed to be made mostly out of fluid ice. The baby wore a thin circlet, marking her as the Heir of the Iron Court.

On the back of the frame was a note handwritten by the Queen of Arendelle herself, dark ink staining parchment.

 _Hero, Princess of Arendelle and Heir to the Iron Court. Goddaughter of Miranda Gothel. Taken on the day of her birth._


	9. Nine

_Nine_

Uriah spent most of his life dead. He'd died at the age of seventeen and honestly couldn't remember it that well anyway { _it had been hundreds of years since his death_ }. Hayley had said it was natural when he first came to her with the realisation that he couldn't remember what the Tank looked like. He'd stared at her for a while, on her throne with a four-year-old on her lap, and then he'd shrugged and gone on. He had since regarded the fact that he didn't remember being alive with a vague sort of interest that erred on the side of apathy. It didn't matter.

The Underworld was his _real_ home. Hayley had certainly implemented some large changes with her conquering of the Gods, but mostly he saw them as being for the better. She had a morbid sense of style, but an excellent ability for control, and so her regime quickly saw a far more efficient (and beautiful) Underworld put into play.

He watched as a spirit entered through the giant glittering gold doors { _stolen from the palace on Olympus_ } and stood in awe and confusion. It was swept up by Charon, who held a clipboard and wore a blazer and jeans { _trying to keep with the times, he said, even though the look was nearly three hundred years old_ }. Charon looked the soul up and down and checked the clipboard once. Then he led it to the Incineration. That had been Hayley's plan. Everyone who hadn't been memorable hadn't been anyone { _in one way or the other_ } was destroyed. The rest of them… well.

They walked through the shining marble halls of the Palace of the Underworld, to Hayley's throne. They wandered through the corridors, marvelling at the treasures of millennia, a requiem lost to time leading them to their new Queen, where they bowed at her feet and she _personally_ read out their sentence, damning them or saving them. Kronos would come to drag away the sinners to the racks, and he would beat them and mutilate them until he was satisfied { _after which, he'd leave them for the rest of the Demons of Hell_ }. Charon would lead those who were to be celebrated to Elysium { _avoiding the Underland/the Fields of Asphodel/Purgatory entirely_ } to the others like them { _that definition varied largely. Anita Radcliffe, for example, resided in Elysium, but her husband and daughter were kept under_ _ **special**_ _care of Kronos_ }.

Uriah was a special case. He'd _wanted_ to die { _or so he'd been told_ } but he was a Hero of the Reckoning. So he'd been given free reign of the Palace, and indeed the Underworld. But being dead led to one growing bored easily, and he'd never seen the world { _so, one night he escaped, using the stairs of Orpheus. He'd become a ghost, intangible and yet_ _ **powerful**_ _, and he'd relished in the thrill of it_ }.

And Hayley gave him a _job._ The God of Ghosts, of Hopes and of Regrets and all those nasty things that came with death.

He spoke with Mal (Death) a lot these days.

So when Charon took the soul off to the Incineration, he followed after them silently, staying in the shadows and following the _life force_ that came from the spirit, more than anything else. He heard the whispers of Charon to the spirit, that it would be going to a _better_ life, that this was the cycle of _reincarnation_ { _a lie, but who cared? They all had a job to do_ }. And when the spirit reached out to touch the pure _black_ that would decimate it, Uriah saw his chance. He swooped in, singing softly to it { _this was how he'd been taught. Lure in they prey first_ } and it turned to him, entranced.

From behind it, Uriah saw Charon's face twist into a grimace { _this had become something of a competition, over the years. Would Uriah suck the life force out of the spirits, or would Charon destroy it first?_ } as the soul ghosted closer, eyes unfocused, becoming less _substance_ every second until it was right in front of him. And he _absorbed_ it, relishing in the rush of the soul's life story flooding through his system, living an entire life out in the span a mere seconds.

He and Charon exchanged a silent challenge.

* * *

Kronos stood at the doors. Uriah had never quite understood Hayley's pseudo-son-slash-lover. He'd known the boy since before he'd been able to walk, but Kronos had always been _off_. He hadn't spoken until he was nearly thirteen, communicating silently with his mother.

When he had begun to speak, he was joking and yet harsh towards Uriah, who had always felt like something of an uncle to the boy. With his pure white skin and pitch-black eyes, Kronos had always looked like he should be ruling over the spirits that chose to not come back to where they began. But he'd tended towards more violent career paths, preferring to torture those who were sentenced to damnation, rather than track and release those who didn't want to leave.

But if Kronos stood at the door, someone truly _terrible_ was coming. The last time he'd stood at the door, Dr Facilier had come through { _special envoy from Felicia, who was still alive and kicking, but who had decided that she wanted to_ _ **see**_ _her father suffer, not just_ _ **know**_ _that he was_ }.

Queen Evie the Angelic walked through the doors.


	10. Ten

_Ten_

 _Felicia Facilier: Special Advisor to the High Queen_ read the plaque on the door. It was carved in gold and inlaid with ruby, and it was far more beautiful than any sign she'd ever had before.

A little way below that there was a second sign (well, it was really no more than a note). It was scribbled hastily on parchment, the ink collecting in globs on the corners of characters. It read, in spiky handwriting, _No Fortunes Told_. Scribbled underneath that, on the door itself: _no lies neither_.

High King Jay started at this door. All three his lovers often popped in and out of Felicia's offices, collecting tea cakes and advice and something called _vetkoek_ from the woman. But the two of them hardly came into contact. He still resented her, for hurting Mal all those years ago { _even though Mal was the one who_ _ **came**_ _to her_ } and she made a general habit of avoiding people who wished her ill. Now, though…

He leaned against the railing of her porch, staring at the door. Her home was picturesquely suburban, like something out of hose Auradon documentaries that they'd play in high school when the projectors worked and the teachers were present and a billion other conditions were met. He stared at the golden knocker, replaying the scenario in his mind: he'd go up, and she'd open the door before he touched the gold. She'd ask if he was here to kill her, and the animosity would crackle between them, to the point where he'd turn around without having said a word, and this would all be for nought. He gazed at the door, before turning to leave. _Not worth it_.

And that would, of course, be the exact moment that Felicia stepped out and locked her door behind her, hair pulling out of its braids and dress falling off her left shoulder. Their eyes locked, and she slowed down, hands coming to her sides. She twirled the keys between her fingers and steadily looked him up and down.

"Well, I suppose you'd better come inside."

The interior of her house looked exactly like it had on the Isle of the Lost ( _except maybe cleaner_ ). There were shelves stacked with alcohol and potions, were bones hanging on the walls and everything had a place. The only noticeable difference was the absence of the pile of bloodstained rags in the corner, which signalled to Jay one thing- Felicia Facilier no longer provided abortions.

Jay sat silently and watched as Felicia made two cups of tea, pouring what looked like half the sugar pot into hers and leaving his black. She set the teacup down in front of him, the fine china clinking quietly. He opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head, stirring her tea. So they sat, eyes holding each other, neither looking down to their cup. Felicia raised her cup to her lips, still not breaking eye contact. Her lip piercings made quiet _pings_ as they came into contact with the gold rim. And still, neither of them spoke.

She drank her tea fast, then, setting down only the thick layer of sugar that clung to the bottom of her cup. Jay's eyes followed the cup down, but he didn't dare say anything, not while Felicia's eyes pierced into his soul { _he didn't know the rituals of this woman Mal trusted so well, and he refused to break decorum_ }.

"Well, Son of Jafar?" He tensed at the name. The last time someone had called him the Son of Jafar, he'd beheaded them where they stood, "Don't hesitate. I am not a patient woman." Now he was on more solid ground.

"I wouldn't make it so that you needed to be," he told her with a wink. She remained stoic and unreactive.

"I know what you want, Son of Jafar. What I want to know is what you're willing to give for it." And there it was. No ultimatums, no dodging the subject. Just price, just bargaining { _Jay and Felicia would never recognise how similar they were, but everyone else did_ }. His tea cooled on the table, still as full as when he'd received it, "You _should_ be doing it free of charge. For your Queen."

Felicia responded with a feral smile, "I don't serve under the monarchy. If anything, the High Queen serves under me." Her brutal honesty, the characteristic that drove away so many customers, cowed even the High King. He fell silent, debating internally. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked loudly, and Jay said the one thing that might have caught her attention.

"Three wishes."

Her eyes glinted, but she betrayed no other emotions, "Why should magick make me agreeable. I have magick."

"You have voodoo. Voodoo and magick, despite what you tell your customers, have very different properties. And you want things that voodoo can't get you."

"And your wife wants something that magick will never get for her."

Jay picked up the teacup and drank, swallowing the entire cup, "You got anything stronger?"

"Nothing you could stomach."

They stared at each other, neither one's pride willing to admit that they desperately wanted what the other was offering. Neither one willing to hold out their hand, to begin the transaction { _who wanted it more?_ }.

The High King broke first.

* * *

Queen Mal stretched out in the silken bed. Her palms brushed against something. She froze in position, muscles taut and a spell to torture on her tongue. She gently reached out to touch the object again and felt life and _magick_ { _and something foreign_ } pulsing beneath her skin. She sat up wildly, eyes wide. Her breath constricted in her throat.

She stretched her back, and they stretched with her.

Wings made of the purest element: _dragon fire_. Held in place by slices of moonlight, threaded with veins through which held voodoo, black and thick like blood.


	11. Eleven

_Eleven_

She knew that Li Lonnie had stopped running. She didn't know when- likely at some point in her four-month retreat into the ranks of the Huns after her father's death. The planning of the honouring ceremony and subsequent need to stay and run the tribe had kept her from the pursuit of her final enemy: the daughter of Fa Mulan.

So, when Lei took up the hunt again, nearly six months after the Day of Reckoning, she didn't know where to start, but she knew there would be a point when she could stop. She may have stopped actively pursuing Li Lonnie, but had still been keeping tabs on her, getting updates from the small bars and farmhouses the girl sometimes ventured into, seeking food and shelter.

But now, she was growing closer. _She could feel it_. The daughter of Mulan wasn't miles away, wasn't even a few blocks away. She'd be around this corner, or the next one, and then Lei would _kill_ her and her lifelong quest would be fulfilled { _and Fan would be avenged, because their father may have killed her, but it was_ _ **Mulan's fault**_ }. And so Lei crept, silently, through the woods that Briar Rose had once run through, waiting for her moment. Until she heard _voices_.

"She's going to kill me, H. What we have won't matter to her," that was the voice of Li Lonnie. It may have been half a year since Auradon existed, but her voice still held the accent of the inhabitants, inflections on her a's and o's. She spoke like she would one day be a queen, like all the other pretty princesses of Auradon { _even though she would never have ruled China. Its rule would have passed to her little brother_ }. But what brought Lei to a halt was the voice that responded, a familiar voice.

"I ain't gonna let 'er," responded an _Isle accent_ , the accent of Helena Hook. She and Lei had never been close, but they had sparred in secret { _the good Captain had never approved of his daughter's exploits, her forays into piracy. Women weren't made to be pirates, they were made to cook and clean_ }, and Lei had thought of them as _friends_. But this was a betrayal of everything the children of the Isle of the Lost stood for. Everything they _were_ { _loyalty amongst thieves and traitors and villains_ }.

So Lei edged closer, keeping her position concealed until she could see the two women. They lay chest-to-chest under a flannel blanket, a fire dying down at their feet. The rays of dawn glittered against their cheeks, and they were kissing gently. But even _true love_ { _that didn't fucking exist_ } wouldn't deter Lei. This was her life's goal, and Helena _couldn't_ begrudge her that { _she knew that Captain Hook was wasting away in a cell in the_ _ **Blood Palace**_ _, waiting for the acid bath that was being prepared by order of Queen Evie_ }.

 _But Li Lonnie was smiling_. That was what broke through Lei's carefully plotted plan. The daughter of Mulan had no _right_ to be happy, not after what Mulan had done to the Huns, to _China_ { _vassal state_ }. She stepped out into the clearing, langseax in hand { _sure, a spear would be more efficient, but this was about revenge and pain, tradition and honour_ }.

"I've waited a _very_ long time to meet you, Li Lonnie. Daughter of Fa Mulan, heiress presumptive of China. And now I'm going to kill you," she turned her attention to Helena, "you're not going to stop me, Helena. I've waited too long. She's the last one." Li Lonnie let out a sob { _weakling. I watched Fan die, and I didn't shed a tear_ }, and Lei prowled towards her final victim { _the end of a dynasty_ }.

Helena Hook blocked her path.

"No," the single word made the Empress of the Huns standstill. The two daughters of the Isle stood in a standoff, neither willing to back down, neither willing to let the other win, "On what rights?" Lei finally responded. The ways of the Isle were the easiest fallback, methods both women understood.

"The Right of Conquest, under the House of Hook," Helena was visibly trembling, and her voice was thick with tears, "I call upon trial by combat." She glanced back to her girlfriend, who stood frozen, hand on her dadao, "With Li Lonnie representing the House of Hook."

Lei held her head high { _she knew how to win this; take it to those who hate Auradon the most_ }, "And High King Jay the Avenger representing the House of Shan."

* * *

"Do you know what true love is?" Gaston Jr asked her one day. They were sitting in an old bar, one built at the same time as the nation of Auradon. They both drank alcohol strong enough to down three grown men and hardly flinched.

"I know it doesn't exist," Lei told him, not meeting his eyes { _the only one she loved could never love her back, her sister was dead, Mulan's legacy lived on, and her father didn't want a daughter_ }.

"You're wrong," he told her, and she looked up.

"It's like- if you saw Mulan's daughter, right now, no Helena, just her, would you kill her?" _Yes_. It would result in her own death, but the Huns would survive, and Fan would be avenged.

She didn't have to say it.

"Exactly!" He gestured to her, "That's true love. It's not romantic, but who says it has to be?" He stopped abruptly, eyes focused on something no one else could see, "I'm gonna go see Felicia soon. Summon Giselle," his eyes snapped back to hers, "I think that that's true love."

He stood up and left, leaving her to get their (rather large) tab. She flipped him off without looking, trying to sort through all the information she'd just been given. She doubted he meant to confuse her like this. He probably just wanted her to understand that there was no talking him out of it this time { _she'd been keeping him from Felicia for years; she had her own suspicions about his sister's death_ }, but he'd given her more to think about than she'd expected from this meeting.

Her head sank into her hands, elbows propped against the dining table. She stayed that way for a long time.


	12. Twelve

_Twelve_

When Gianna Ratcliffe was fourteen, she lost her voice. She'd been hiding another body { _there was dead bodies laying all over the Isle of the Lost, but this one's complexion made her_ _ **sick**_ _to her stomach, and so she went into the woods, the territory of the Huns, and left the dismembered body there_ } when she stumbled through Coward's Market { _full of bullshit. Mal was kissing and being kissed by the white-haired boy, and the voices in her head shrieked about him spoiling his_ _ **human, white**_ _bloodline with faerie blood_ }. To avoid the _king and_ _half-blood queen_ , she ducked through the alleyway that led to the church. It rarely used, that could easily be said. Claude Frollo was the only one who ever frequented it { _she didn't know if he ever left_ }. The Descendants of all the really interesting people were not interested in being saved.

It was there that she saw it. _Queen Evie the Whore_ pressing Helena Hook against the church wall, hand up her skirt. The girls were frantically kissing, and Helena was grinding down as if she would _die_ if she didn't. And Gianna smiled.

 _Faggots_. The voices screamed. _Dykes. Kill them. Bathe in their blood_. And she really thought about it. Thought about the joy that would come from _ripping_ Evie to pieces, thought about her father clapping her on the back and hugging her close.

She didn't do it.

She would have, if not for the Succubus Queen looking up at that second, an exact replica of her mother. Queen Grimhilde, beautiful even in her old age, would _destroy_ her daughter if she knew that she was a _homosexual_. And so Gianna just smirked at Evie and slipped into the shadows.

Gianna Ratcliffe woke up strapped to a chair, gagged and bound { _which was odd, as she distinctly remembered going to bed on the one mattress in her father's shack_ }. There was a table in front of her, and Evie sat across from her. The _dyke_ smiled, and a force from behind ripped the gag from Gianna's mouth.

" _Cunt ain't kinky enough for you, your majesty?"_ she spat, a demented smile painted across her lips, " _You into bondage now? Non-consensual shit? Seems about right for a dyke."_

The demon's eyes darkened, staring Gianna down.

" _You saw something you weren't supposed to, Gianna. And now you're gonna have to pay for it,"_ if Gianna could, she would have slit her own wrists at that very second, for the _sinful_ thoughts she was having { _the demeanour of the queen was a fucking turn on. She wondered how loud she could make the bitch scream_ }.

" _Sign the contract, Gianna,_ " it had been laid out on the table, neatly calligraphed on white paper, a pen laying next to it { _she knew those. Imbibed with magick. Made the contract unbreakable_ } and Gianna didn't even have to look at the writing to know that she got _nothing_ from that contract.

" _And if I don't?"_ She was snarling, but the corners of her lips turned up.

Next thing she knew, she had a lapful of a succubus. Evie, violently pressing her lips to Gianna's own, taking the Aryan girl's head in her hands and _kissing_ her, hard. When she pulled back, Gianna was _weak_ { _not just with_ _ **want**_ _. The queen had pulled the life from Gianna's body_ }. And she just _smiled at_ Gianna, as if she knew what the girl was thinking { _the lover of a truthseeker. Of course, she knew what Gianna was thinking_ }.

Gianna signed the contract, the voices in her head screaming that _she should just let the queen kill her, rather than live life as a fucking faggot_.

It is hereby stated in this contract, as signed by Genevieve Amara Grimhildejardöttír (G.A.G.) and Gianna Anelle Ratcliffe (G.A.R.), that G.A.R. will surrender her voice to Mikhail Medusa. Her voice may be returned under the following conditions:

One: Grimhilde White is dead.

Two: G.A.G., Maleficent Morgana le Fay, Jay Jafarson, and Carlos de Vil have all officially voiced their approval.

Three: Mikhail Medusa has officially voiced his approval.

Four: G.A.R. has not slaughtered an innocent based on their skin colour or sexual orientation from this date onwards.

* * *

Gianna Ratcliffe was twenty-one when she was gifted her voice back. It had taken months of formalities, navigating and negotiating { _no one expected Mikhail Medusa to be_ _ **dead**_ _; eventually, the Kings and Queens allowed for Dimitri and Astoria Tremaine to agree on behalf of Mikhail_ }. And Queen Evie the Angelic { _the words like poison in her mouth_ } had just killed her mother on live television, the first televised killing of this new era.

Her first words, before she strolled out the doors to find that redskin whore Pocahontas were, "Thanks, dyke."

{ _Queen Evie responded that it took one to know one before pulling Jay down and kissing him harder than she'd ever kissed Gianna_ }.

{ _Gianna was found and sentenced to death not ten minutes after the death of Pocahontas at the hands of John Smith- the Kings and Queens had been waiting_ }.


	13. Thirteen

_Thirteen_

Genevieve had always attended Claude Frollo's sermons. It had started as tradition, her mamma taking her every Sunday to be absolved of her sins. They sat in the polished wooden pews { _the church was the only facility on the Isle that's upkeep was sponsored by the United States of Auradon until the implementation of the Adam Beast Hospital for the Needy_ } and let the stained glass { _depicting the portraits of Cinderella on the steps of the palace and Snow White in her coffin_ } cast coloured shadows across their faces. Genevieve would always leave confession with a pretty boy that had stayed by the large oak doors { _to please her mama- she never slept with them_ }.

{ _Except for the last sermon. Father Frollo had been preaching Exodus 22:18, and he'd licked his lips when she caught his eye. That always meant the same thing. She'd waited until everyone had left, the window panes casting long shadows over her face before she acted. She'd slipped into the confessional._

" _In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was a week ago," she took a deep breath, "I have agreed with my lover's choice to get an abortion. I have allowed myself to discard the bodily safety of others so that I could give myself sexual gratification. I have been sexually active outside of marriage, partaking in sexual activities with both women and men. In this sexual activity, I have intentionally used a contraceptive to prevent procreation. I have taken the Lord's name in vain."_

 _The confessions were more habit than anything else. Most people on the Isle of the Lost had done worse. Father Frollo didn't really care. The penances he dealt out were harsh, though, as if his confinement to the Isle made him more desperate to show off the power he believed the Lord had given him {_ _ **even though the power He had given Evie was monumentally greater**_ _}._

" _For these and all the sins of my past life, I ask pardon of God, penance, and absolution from you, Father," she had kneeled in the confessional, silent, as Father Frollo determined what her penance would be. When he did speak, it was with a deep voice that rasped and dragged across certain words, "For your penance, you will read the book of Genesis tonight, you will recite Laudes Divinae and you will say ten Hail Mary's."_

 _She had recited the Act of Contrition and waited. To be absolved of her sins. But Frollo didn't say anything {_ _ **and in her, she knew. That was her moment**_ _}. She had stepped, silently, out of her confessional and into the father's. His eyes had widened {_ _ **maybe he hadn't expected her to be so forward, but fuck you, she was a Queen and a succubus, and she hated submitting**_ _}. She had climbed into his lap {_ _ **oh so carefully**_ _}, placing her knees on either side of him, the boots she wore covering half her thigh {_ _ **but the dress she wore was one of Jay's old shirts that she'd refashioned, and so it was short enough that her mother didn't complain**_ _}. Claude Frollo had taken her by her waist and pulled her in, allowing her to bring her lips down on his,_ _ **hard**_ _. And they'd kissed, violently and fiercely, his wrinkling skin feeling_ _ **off**_ under her _unblemished one, but also_ _ **so good**_ _. And her dress had been unbuttoned, exposing her breasts, and the father was surprisingly good at touching women, for a man who was sworn to remain chaste, a man who had never married._

 _ **Evie had left the confessional with lipstick staining her teeth and a smug grin on her face that betrayed another confession to approach.**_ }

* * *

The Hunchback of Notre Dame had been extremely satisfied with her gift, Queen Evie the Angelic thought, pleased. She and Mal made a tradition of attending the Feast of Fools, and this year, she'd brought a gift for the host, wrapped up in the outfit of his ex-master. Claude Frollo had screamed when The Hunchback ate his heart { _homage to Evie's slaughter of her own ex-master_ } and the Father's screams hadn't sounded that different to his moans { _she remembered those well_ }.

{ _When they'd arrived in Auradon, she'd discovered that their tormentors were Protestant. Their Prince hadn't been baptised, had never been to confession {_ _ **what would the darling Princeling of Auradon have to confess?**_ _}. The official statement Auradon Prep revolved around 'belief in religious freedom', but she'd seen the Fairy Godmother force Alya to remove her hijab, citing it as "a symbol of Eastern oppression" and she'd seen_ _ **Ben**_ _handing out a detention {_ _ **one of his rights as King**_ _} to Carlos when he refused to sing the Lord's Prayer {_ _ **God forbid Ben discover that Mal practised Old Religions, that she followed the belief of Morgana le Fay, the belief in transcendentalism and the Wiccan Magicks**_ _}._

 _(She added another strike to her tally of taking the Lord's name in vain, bringing it up to around thirty)._

 _It had taken Evie nearly a year to track down a Catholic priest, and when she had, she didn't expect what she saw._

 _Phoebe de Châteaupers, who was married to his heroine, Esmerelda. A man who betrayed the faith more than she did {_ _ **she, who always begged for absolution, but committed the sins again**_ _} by sacrificing his religion at the altar of fitting in. Weak._

 _She turned around and walked out of the chapel {_ _ **her confession could wait until she found a real priest**_ _}._

 _Evie didn't confess for the next five years._ }

* * *

"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. My last confession was five years ago," she was kneeling in the chapel she'd created a charity to build, with one of the few priests that practised in Auradon { _she had been bringing the message to the USA_ }.

"I have taken the Lord's name in vain too many times to count. I have had more lustful thoughts than I can remember. I have continuously engaged in sex outside of marriage and used contraception to avoid conception. I have murdered ninety people. I have engaged in homosexual activity. I have felt Wrath, Vanity, Envy, and Avarice too many times to count. I have been gluttonous. I have caused others bodily harm. I have conspired against my King," { _less than an hour until Auradon is ours_ } she confessed, knowing that the Father was bound to secrecy, "I have sacrificed the safety of a nation on the altar of power. I have accepted my place in the pattern, and so accepted myself as a goddess, below only the Lord himself."

She took a deep breath { _leaving my sins behind me as we usher in a new era_ }. And she spoke again, reciting the words she knew from memory even as the Priest trembled, her confessions sinking in, " _For these and all the sins of my past life, I ask pardon of God, penance, and absolution from you, Father."_

The Father didn't ever tell her what her penance would be { _preferring to pick up a knife, deciding to be a hero worthy of Auradon, and so being struck down by the protectors of the goddess (_ _ **King Carlos, King Jay, and the Lord himself**_ _)_ }.

{ _Evie lived to be the Angelic Queen_ }.

* * *

Before she walked into the Underworld, Queen Genevieve demanded her Viaticum. By no means did she follow the Catholic faith her mother had indoctrinated into her anymore, but she still _believed_. She had believed the Lord would save her from eternal damnation, believed still that Jesus Christ would lead her into eternity.

And when the Priest asked her if she wanted to confess, she smiled and started with the rote, "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."


	14. Fourteen

_Fourteen_

Alya had never been like the other Descendants. She _was_ a princess (or, more accurately, a _Sultana_ ) but she didn't dress like the other girls. At fourteen-years-old, when the other girls were braiding each other's hair, they would look at her with scorn through the side of their eyes, as she sat in her hijab (beautiful though it was, woven with glass beads). As they rejected her (and even in her fierce _pride_ of her religion, even in her most absolute conviction that the hijab was a commandment from God, something to be proud of, the tiniest part of her wanted to be like Audrey and Spring and Carla, with their pretty curls that hung around their faces) she thought of her mother, thought of the strict rules she had lived under with Jafar, his cruel ideals and his misunderstanding of Islam.

Three weeks later, Alya came home sobbing, and her mother had chased after her. They'd sat on Alya's bed for hours, talking about anything and everything, until the girl felt confident enough to bring up with her mother the true reason she was crying.

"I don't want to wear the hijab anymore, mama." Her mother had always given her great freedom surrounding religion. Although Agrabah was a predominantly-Muslim country, it had never been an Islamic State, and her mother reflected those ideals. Alya had _asked_ to wear the hijab when she was six years old and watched her mother pinning it into place. She'd liked the idea, found it a comforting way to express herself and her religion.

But when she asked, her mother had gazed upon her with the saddest eyes she'd ever seen, "If that's what you want, _ṭiflah_. But think about it first. Don't let those silly girls change you," { _Jasmine didn't know that it wasn't a 'silly girl' that had so wrecked Alya's pride, but rather the Headmistress herself_ }.

The next day, Alya had arrived at school with thick brown hair in large curls that framed her face and settled on her shoulders, pinned back from her forehead by a jewelled hairpin in the shape of a lamp { _she'd taken the hairpin off by the end of the day, noticing how out-of-place it looked amongst the other girls' roses and tiaras_ }. Audrey Rosiers had immediately come up to her, had fawned over her looks and told her she was much better off without the 'scarf'.

Alya said nothing.

* * *

" _Al-salāmu ʿalaykum._ "

She often stayed in the Blood Palace. As the official ruler of Agrabah, diplomatic visits to the nameless land that was once Auradon { _it was taking a while, for the Kings and Queens to settle on a name_ } were a must. Especially considering her new governing style.

High King Jay's insistence that Agrabah become an Islamic State had originally confused her. He had never seemed to follow the faith in the five years that they had attended school together { _but then, looking back on it, neither had she, always secluding herself before prayers and casting aside her hijab permanently only days after he'd arrived_ }. But as time went on, she grew more and more comfortable as a leader of an Islamic State, and three years after the Day of Reckoning, she couldn't remember why she'd ever been ashamed of her religion { _the High King had declared jihad on the Day of Reckoning, and her protected those of his faith from the ones he and his lovers had dethroned_ }.

It wasn't often, however, that she bumped into the High King himself.

King Jay was looking extraordinarily healthy, nothing like he had upon his arrival { _she'd been there for it, had had to see for herself_ }. He had more scars now, but he was better filled-out, looked happier and more confident {" _He killed Cassim," said a voice in her head, but she ignored it. That sort of thought was treason, and rumour had it that the High Queen could read minds_ }.

" _Wa ʿalaykum al-salām wa riḥmat Allāh wa barakatuhu,_ " she responded respectfully, shifting her niqab slightly.

The King smiled at her, "How's life treating you, Alya?" He had told her, after he'd killed Cassim, that he bore her no grudge, told her he knew that she was not like her brother, who had abandoned their faith and its teachings, who had abandoned _him_. She hadn't believed him then, but she believed him now. Three years since he'd placed her on the throne of Agrabah, and he'd never dared to touch her, never required anything of her _except_ for running her country under the laws of Islam { _and even then,_ _ **she**_ _ruled, not her husband or cousin_ }.

So she smiled, and burst into a speech about her new son, a baby that she'd adopted from the streets of Agrabah { _she didn't notice the look of longing that passed over the High King's face- but Mal, watching from the shadows, did_ }.

Alya ruled Agrabah for many years to come, and Farouk was groomed well to rule after her.

{ _And so Aladdin's daughter led Agrabah in a way that her father would've hated and Jafar would have applauded. After all, all she wanted to do anymore was survive_.}


	15. Fifteen

_Fifteen_

Hayley was a _goddess_.

People often seemed to forget that, even when they stood in front of her throne, the same one her father had once sat on { _Hayley was inheriting a dynasty, after all. It didn't seem right to do away with everything_ }. They forgot that she was a goddess, not an _incarnation_ of one like the Kings and Queens above. They forgot she still had the magic that a Higher Power had decided _they_ didn't need in this cycle.

Normally, she erased the traitor from existence. Sent them through Charon's portal, _destroyed_ them the way the Egyptians used to.

That wouldn't work with this one. Because in this case, the one who had _forgotten_ her power over him was her dearest companion, her son and her lover. Kronos stood in front of her, his teeth bared in a sickening grin, the blood that coated them belonging to none an old ally of Hayley.

She didn't request much from Kronos. She'd sent him to _Queen Evie's Academy for the Wicked and the Damned_ at Queen Mal's bequest but had never really bothered to monitor what Kronos did when he roamed the glittering halls of Hell. But now…

She flung the nearest object at him- an object that happened to be a pitchfork { _oh, how she loved irony_ }. It left him on the marble floor, bleeding, the middle prong in his calf { _no one said she had a bad aim, even in her blind fury_ }.

" _How dare you!?"_ she shrieked, flinging herself out of her throne to stalk down the stairs towards him, her anger building up with every step. " _He was my_ _ **greatest**_ _ally, Kronos. You_ _ **knew**_ _that. And he's a part of the cycle. He'll be reborn, and then he'll be after_ _ **you**_ _. And I don't know if I'll be stronger than him this time._ _ **What do you expect me to do if I can't protect you next time?**_ " she asked her pseudo-son softly, her voice only _just_ betraying her hurt, " _What have you done to us, Kronos?"_

The demon, to his credit, merely grinned. He pulled the pitchfork from his leg and threw it to the floor, the wound closing up so fast one wouldn't believe it had ever been there. He shrugged at his mother, the blood and flesh between his teeth detracting from his charismatic attitude. But Hayley would not be distracted, not even by the man she loved.

" _You've doomed us. Do you think that Hero will leave us be? She's primed to rule, to_ _ **destroy**_ _us. And now, now that you've slighted them…"_ she trailed off, her voice breaking, " _You need to run._ "

{ _Kronos had been raised in the Underworld, raised on the torture of Maleficent and Grimhilde, where Hayley was raised on caution and soft power. There would always have been a day when his values came to clash with hers, and today was that day. His utter apathy, his belief that his mother was the strongest being in the world, that he was_ _ **safe**_ _, was about to be irrevocably changed. And it would_ _ **hurt**_ _._ }

* * *

When **He** caught up to Kronos, it was _gory_. The incarnation of War, the last of **Them**. And **He** was _furious_. He dragged Kronos into his old schoolyard, the one built nearly three-hundred years ago by a Queen and a Lover. _Queen Evie's Academy for the Wicked and the Damned_ sometimes received demonstrations like this, lessons in pure _power_ and what happened when you angered the Kings and Queens. And Kronos screamed for _two days straight_ after being dragged into his alma mater, until his body couldn't take it { _couldn't take the absolute_ _ **fury**_ _of_ _ **MichaelAresMarsHorusThorWar**_ _}._ His body couldn't take the _smallest_ portion of the torture he'd doled out for years and _years_ { _but then again,_ _ **He**_ _was very good at what he did. He started with Maleficent's death and worked his way through (Gaston. Grimhilde. Jafar. Angelique. The Queen of Hearts. Captain Hook) the ranks, proving what everyone else had always known; the_ _ **Last King**_ _was_ _ **fucked**_ _, was completely_ _ **broken**_ _, and without his lovers to hold him back, he'd_ _ **destroy**_ _them_ }.

But that wasn't the end of it. After his death, Kronos expected _peace_ in the home he'd always known. But he hadn't counted on the sheer hatred that coursed through **His** body, hadn't counted on his victim's grieving { _immortal, adoptive_ } sister. So, when he anticipated his mother's arms and a lover's comfort, he was met with the racks he knew so well and the _hatred_ of a woman scorned.

{ _After he'd lost track of the time passing, his mother snuck down to see him. Brought him_ _ **salvation**_ _. Brought him the God of Ghosts (and Hopes and Regrets and Lost Love and Last Wishes) and told him that he was being given a choice: cease to exist, or stay on the rack. And when he made the only choice that he_ _ **could**_ _have, she kissed him and left {_ _ **didn't even wait for his execution**_ _}_ }.

* * *

Hayley didn't know as much about the pattern as Miranda did { _she was the daughter of a_ _ **version**_ _of Hades, because the first hades had become Death when the Christians took over (_ _ **who became Pluto who became Azriel who became Hela who became Mal**_ _)_ } but that didn't mean she was _clueless_. She'd always known of the pattern { _sometimes, goddesses just knew things_ } and she'd always known how this cycle was going to end { _at the hands of a voodoo practitioner and a God named after a Titan and the Girl who was a Contradiction_ }.

So, after her lover's death, she knew- **He** would soon leave. **Their** time was up, they'd changed the course of history the way the Higher Power had wanted { _they were always his favourites_ }. It didn't mean that the world was ending, just that an _era_ was. And that would hardly affect Hayley, anyhow. She was a goddess. Her father had survived many eras, and she'd survive many more { _he would too- if one could call Tartarus_ _ **survival**_ }. _She was a goddess_ she'd think, sitting in her palace even thousands of years later, her husband { _the King of Hell and the God of Ghosts_ } at her side, _it wasn't_ _ **her**_ _job to worry about the affairs of man_.


	16. Sixteen

_Sixteen_

Smith had received a _royal pardon_ from King James himself, as well as a _ship_ of his own, an opportunity to explore the world the way he'd always wanted { _without the pressing instructions of a Governor, without the need to_ _ **settle**_ }. And when Pocahontas didn't want to come with him- well, it was terribly sad { _she'd been corrupted, wasn't the bright spirit that had once taught him so much about the world_ } but he wasn't about to let go of the chance to see what was _around the river bend_.

Pocahontas was _given_ that chance, but once she actually left the comfort of her village, she got _scared_. When she was given the real opportunity for _adventure_ , she cowered away { _he could never forgive her, not really, not for_ _ **this**_ _change of heart_ }. He'd loved her more than just about anything else but would have given her freely to John Rolfe, as long as she continued to be the restless woman he'd fallen in love with when they met { _she hadn't_ }.

 _Or do you still wait for me, dream giver?_

He'd journey for many years, visiting the most beautiful lands, learning of cultures he'd never known. He went to India many times, spending many years there, but his dreams always went further. He saw the countries of _Africa_ , saw the world changing and changed with it { _but never too much- never the way Pocahontas did_ }.

He heard of the creation of the United States of Auradon { _was invited by Queen Belle to be an honorary citizen, but couldn't. He'd attended the official 'Opening Ceremony', but it rang too much of Governor Ratcliffe's pompous speech when they landed in Tsenacommacah. And when he saw her, corset-like a second skin and powder on her face, he turned and fled. He couldn't stand aside and watch her spirit crumble_ } but hadn't stopped by in many years. And as he learned of the world's cultures, as he learnt of the riches the world provided, messages came to him, of her well being, of her life { _of her children, with good, strong English names. Missy, Elliott and John. Children who didn't speak Virginia Algonquian. So, when a woman he had loved came to him with a little girl with his hair and his eyes, he named her Shenandoah (a name he'd once heard shouted across a village as he awaited execution) so that someone could honour the culture that his_ _ **true love**_ _had forgotten_ }.

The next "big event" of Auradon that he was invited to was the wedding of Mal and Ben { _that was a lie. He'd been invited to the coronation, but 'forgotten' to go_ }. He saw her there, too. She looked more natural than she had in _years_ , but even then, her traditional dress was studded with diamonds in a way _his_ Pocahontas would have abhorred. _But that was who she was now_ , he thought, and he didn't comment. Not even when she approached him cautiously, her three-month-old granddaughter in her arms { _he hadn't intended to speak to her_ }.

"John."

"Pocahontas"

There wasn't really much else to say. This was who they were now- both so _different_ , neither like they were when they met. And her next words proved that to him more than any dress could have.

"Actually, it's Huacaltzintli, now." He had known for many years about the naming traditions of the Powhatan but had somehow never imagined her name changing. The meaning of her nickname had been too perfect to allow her to ever go by another name.

She continued as if the change of her name hadn't entirely _shattered_ his perception of the world, "But, well, I know it's difficult to say, so I just go by Cali, most of the time."

{ _He looked at her, in a culture she knew more about than he did, In a life she'd never wanted, and shook his head_ }.

"Goodbye, Huacaltzintli."

* * *

When his captor returned _with a voice_ , he knew it was over. It had been three years since the wedding, three years in this tiny cell with his daughter, three years in the clothes they'd worn to the wedding, three years of wondering.

Their captor smiled.

"My names Gianna Ratcliffe, Captain Smith. And if you do this one thing for me, I'll let you and your daughter go."

{ _He lowered the axe. His one great act of mercy was cutting off the head of the woman he'd once loved more than life itself, the woman who had forgotten what it was to live_ }.

 _John Smith spent the rest of his life sailing. He wasn't under the rule of Chess, there {_ _ **Chess- the nickname the rest of the world gave to the ex-United States of Auradon, named for its ruthless Kings and Queens and its sacrificial pawns**_ _}. He could just be. His daughter went on to join the crew of The Sappho, having been sailing all her life. She was a perfect fit._


	17. Seventeen

_Seventeen_

 _Alice?_ _ **Alice?**_ _Who the fuck is Alice?_

 **Sweet, sweet Alice (traumatised)**

{ _Under mama's thumb,_

 _killing for fun,_

 _in love with a psychopath,_

 _PTSD from the aftermath_ }

 **Ruled over Wonderland, her genius unrecognised**

{ _Strength in her bones,_

 _on an iron throne,_

 _absolutely fucking mad,_

 _pretty young maenad_ }

 **She was a hunter (and a killer, and a freak)**

{ _Along with Red, whose fingers were claws,_

 _who let go of the laws,_

 _who killed with no remorse,_

 _who hurt her in intercourse_ }

 **A queen amongst women, made to be unique**

{ _She'd killed her namesake,_

 _(herself to unmake)_

 _drove a stake through her heart,_

 _the unholy counterpart_ }

 **Killed her husband, late one night**

{ _Sleeping with that little whore_

 _(starting a household civil war)_

 _one night she decided- OFF WITH HIS HEAD_

 _he was a much better husband when he was dead_ }

 **Buried his corpse beneath the starlight**

{ _When he met Hayley, he smirked with pride_

 _he'd done enough to be remembered, regardless of his bride_

 _she condemned him to an afterlife of honour_

 _he figured (when his wife came down) she was a goner_ }

 **She lived for many a decade more**

{ _Her laws were wild,_

 _creations of the devil-child,_

 _she lived a life of decadence,_

 _upset only by her senescence_ }

 **Off what she inherited from her paramour**

{ _She died long before the Kings and Queens,_

 _head was taken off by the guillotine,_

" _It's a shame she had to be put down," they said_

 _even as Hela screamed (OFF WITH HER HEAD)_ }

 **When she woke in the parlour of the HellQueen**

{ _She was killed because she was insane,_

 _he was killed because he couldn't abstain,_

 _my God, what a couple they made_

 _(they were certainly not to be disobeyed)_ }

 **The consequences would be unforeseen.**

* * *

" _You're such an asshole!"_ she shrieked. They'd been confined to their own personal "heaven" for the time being, until they could agree to get along without disrupting the other heroes.

"You're the one who put me here, _sweetheart_ ," he snarled back at her, scraping his claws against the wall. It was a nice suite, but their focus wasn't on their living arrangements. Muddy brown eyes bore into silver ones, and teeth were bared in animalistic displays of dominance, "Yeah, well, you were fucking some other _whore_ that wasn't your wife, _babe_." They prowled around each other { _loved each other too much to permanently_ _ **destroy**_ _the other, but God, they were so fucking annoying_ }.

She got bored, eventually, made the first move { _sometimes, it was him who made the first move_ }. She lunged, but not to injure { _there was always a definitive change in her posture, that betrayed her intentions_ }. Their lips locked. This would be one of the good nights.

{ _That was how they would spend eternity. Fighting and making love whenever they felt like it because that was their_ _ **heaven**_ }.


	18. Eighteen

_Eighteen_

The deceitful king sat at the edge of a cliff, smoking. From where he stood, he could see the waves crashing into the rock, a thousand feet below. A fur coat, made of dalmatian fur { _new dalmatians. Not the blasted puppies his mother had sacrificed his life for._ _ **They**_ _were a part of his throne, had been for a long, long time_ } pooled around him, sheltering him from the harsh winds that ran over Chess { _that still wasn't the official name, but he liked it. It was less of a mouthful than "the ex-United States of Auradon"_ }. He blew smoke out over the edge of the country and watched as it dissolved into thin air. Smoking still gave him the nicotine rush it had when he started. It hadn't faded with his mortal life stream, the way drinking had for Jay, the way drugs had faded for Evie { _to a point where even the cocaine she'd once loved hardly sent a tingle down her spine_ }. As immortals 'aged', mortal pleasures often lost their touch, but for Carlos, whose immortality was a farce, he could live as long as he wanted, enjoying the man-made pleasures that were lost to his lovers. Mal's spell had ensured that.

{ _The Spell of Hedonism was the most complicated piece of magick Mal had ever performed successfully {_ _ **they didn't talk about the wings**_ _}. She'd been inspired by Oscar Wilde (as Mal was with many things) and had spent nearly two years trying to perfect the concept created in The Picture of Dorian Gray. By the time she finished, Carlos was forty-three, and it was starting to show, even though his lovers looked the same as they had on the Day of Reckoning. But Mal's power had once again triumphed, restoring him to his former beauty while a portrait of him {_ _ **painted by the High Queen herself**_ _} faded, taking on his age and vices._

 _Even now, nearly three hundred years after he should have died, Carlos didn't think that anything could surpass Mal's gift to him, the gift that allowed him to live alongside his lovers._

 _He was wrong._ }

The wind around him picked up, whipping into a frantic pace, and he knew without looking that the High Queen had settled down behind him. He turned around, and was once again caught up in her beauty { _because Evie was the fairest of all of them, but Mal encompassed a sense of radiance and power that was almost too much to behold_ }. The setting sun shone through her wings, casting shadows onto the grass where it hit the voodoo powers that ran through their veins. When she reached him, she caught him in a strong embrace and held on, refusing to let go. He offered her a drag, and she turned it down { _that was out of character for her. She enjoyed the taste of cigarettes in a way he didn't, even though the drug didn't affect her anymore, hadn't for centuries_ }.

She sat next to him, hanging her legs over the edge of the cliff, and lay back { _he wished he could take a picture of her like this, more carefree than she'd been for nearly a month. Something had been bothering their High Queen, all four of them knew, but they also knew that she would only speak when she was ready_ }. Her body was framed by her wings, and Carlos was once again struck by the magnificence that she had { _finally, deservedly_ } been blessed with. He flicked what was left of his cigarette over the cliff's edge and watched as it sailed into the air and then down, down, and lost it just before it hit the waves. He lay down next to his Queen and just watched the sky with her { _she was finally satisfied, and she'd tell him what the problem had been when she was ready_ }.

They lay like that for nearly three hours { _he'd learnt that patience was a virtue that came with immortality. When you had forever, nothing had to happen now_ } before anything happened. And when something did, it was exactly _unprecedented_. She rolled over to climb on top of him and began to kiss him { _but these kisses were different. Celebratory, almost_ }.

"I have something to tell you," she whispered in between kisses and gasps. He smiled fondly, "I kinda figured, babe," he told her, rolling them around so that she lay in the grass, "that's the only reason any of you come out here anyway."

 _Out here_ was the cliff edge, was Carlos's space. Had been, even since long before their takeover. These days, it was where he came to smoke, to think, to breathe { _to get away from the politics, because even in an absolute monarchy, there would always be politics involved when governing a state_ }. But it was also the place the other knew to look first when they wanted to tell him something and he wasn't in one of their laps.

"This is big news, baby. Huge, even. It's going to change our lives forever," she told him, sitting up and brushing herself off { _there'd be more kissing and celebrations later. Now, it was time to talk_ }. She exhaled excitedly, gearing up for her confession.

"I wanted to tell you first, because the other two, well, they're going to be so excited, Carlos. But you need a moment too, I think, to rejoice privately," she shrugged at him, and planted a kiss on his cheek, "I know you don't like to be caught by surprise." He loved her for it.

The anticipation built between them, and Mal's left hand drifted to her lower abdomen, the ring on her finger { _made of antimatter captured in magick, unique and worth more than the world combined_ } glowing in the midday sun { _and he knew, he thought, the split second before she told him, the one thing that would, really, truly and irrevocably change all their lives forever_ }.

"Carlos, I'm _pregnant_."

* * *

 _This was the sixth work in the Seven Deadly Sins 'verse. The previous work is called 'What They Didn't Do' and the next work is called 'No Retreat(No Surrender)'. You can also find the entire story on my profile under 'The Horsemen's Cycle'._


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